


You Remind Me of a Melody

by TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe Truce, Did It Happen Anyway? Yes., Enemies to Lovers, Fun Dabbling into the Magical World of Occlumency, Grown Up and Still Making Questionable Decisions, M/M, Truce, Wise? No. Recommended? No. Planned? No., Years after the war, falling in love with your enemy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain/pseuds/TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain
Summary: Maybe You've Heard It Before?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 22
Kudos: 83





	You Remind Me of a Melody

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'll write a second part to this. I will.  
> Me, after posting it on Tumblr: Oh yes I will absolutely write that second part. As I planned to do. 100%.  
> Me, an absurd amount of time later, awkwardly laughing: So it seems I may not make a second part to this after all.  
> Me, sobbing, right now, at this moment: POSTING IT TO AO3 AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> Edit: Okay so I'm officially going to try and add more to this! Terrible of me, I know. All of the chapters will include song titles that give me the Vibes:tm:.
> 
> This title: Old Soul by Saint Motel

Harry’s Occlumency mindscape was not structured.

It was not the tall, neverending shelves of books Hermione favoured, all stacked high and low with access via ladders or stairs. Her memories and thoughts tucked away behind each letter of inked script and in the glue of leather bindings.

It was not natural, unlike the rush of wind and warm sun beating down on skin that Ron’s more Quidditch based mindscape seemed to enjoy. His memories hidden in every blade of grass- a rolling green sea below, and in the clouds above drifting in their condensed wet plumes.

It took Harry years to build a foundation for the perfect little cottage, and it took years of watching every good or bad beast huff and puff and blow his hard work down to realise that this defence would not cut it. Harry’s dream of a home in a lush forest of verdant wasn’t strong enough to protect his mind or hold his secrets. It wasn’t tangible enough for his mind to grasp; it was something so far from his reality, his past. And with nothing to relate and build off of, all his Occlumency skills were like dust in the wind.

So Harry learned the hard way that his walls couldn’t be built like Hermione’s or Ron’s.

No, Harry’s was _dark_. Dreary. Fell on his shoulders like an ill-fitting cloak, like two hands trying to further along his steady descent into quicksand. It was a fog or smog or some other foul, putrid density that filled the air around him. Something that smelt like a burnt roast in the Dursley’s oven and Petunia’s perfume or Vernon’s cologne. A thicket where his memories hid in plain sight behind what could be noxious fumes of gas or even slick pockets of oil and grease. A dingy, slanted place that barely fit an adult person. Where the darkness remained all-encompassing and neverending, giving the illusion of space when there was none.

That was more familiar. More relatable.

People would enter his mind and leave feeling as though they barely survived a Dementors Kiss. A chill would groan in their bones, and heaviness would fill their tongues all while shadows played tricks in the corner of their eyes. Harry never needed to have a barrier or shield to stop another; they always chose to leave his mind themselves.

Why would anyone bare to stay in such a nightmare?

Thankfully Legilimency wasn’t a skill practised by most, it being very illegal helped with that, though there were the select few…

Dumbledore and Voldemort, of course, falling into that category.

The first time Dumbledore had noticed Harry’s new mindscape, he had left it with barely any reaction save for a small frown. But Harry watched in silence as Dumbledore sat at his desk, pensive. Watched as Dumbledore’s blackened hand– not killing him in a show of goodwill with the current truce– tremored as he reached for his cup of tea. Watched Fawkes shifting out of the corner of Harry’s eyes, crooning and hunching in on itself in a show of discomfort. Maybe on behalf of Dumbledore who was keen not to let any similar feelings slip.

Dumbledore, even now, never seemed to learn.

“It’s rude to snoop Headmaster.”

Dumbledore’s pained smile brought no satisfaction, “It’s been four years since you passed your N.E.W.T.s, Harry. Albus is fine.”

Harry nodded, but there was a tensity that made the motion jerked and short. He wondered if he should leave.

“The years have not been kind to you, and I’m sorry for that, my dear boy.” And if that wasn’t an understatement.

Harry glanced at the bowl of sherbet lemons, desperately wishing they had kept their silence or ended the meeting short. “It’s not your fault, sir.” The words slipped out to placate, but they didn’t feel honest. Parts of himself still felt bitter it seemed, even after all this time.

“Even if you may believe me to have zero fault, it does not change the fact that I did not do enough in the ways of easing your burdens.”

Harry resolved to stay silent, but words hung in the air as if Harry had only just screamed them, echoing around the room.

Dumbledore clapped suddenly, breaking the tension and surprising Harry with a jolt. He leaned forward across his desk with a merry twinkle in his eyes– this was better. Avoidance was something Harry could handle. “How goes your weekly meetings with Tom? Has he remained reluctantly civil?”

Harry hesitated, a barely-there pause to anyone else but Dumbledore’s brow still furrowed.

“Harry, if he is not keeping to the terms, you would tell me yes?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he briskly shook his head, “Voldemort is keeping to the truce! It’s fine, everything’s fine, it’s just– well-” Harry struggled to find the right words, lips moving to start and body cringing off the reply before he could get it out. He slumped in the chair when he settled on the truth with no way to soften the blow. “We’ve actually started meeting daily.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, and there was a pause that was more than the blank wordlessness of surprise. A moment of hesitation before Dumbledore gave in and tried to graze Harry’s surface thoughts yet again, only to leave as fast as he came. The slight tremor returned with his swift exit, along with the small frown, as it _always_ did.

Harry sighed, “I’ve said it before, but you should really stop doing that, sir. Hermione’s told me it’s quite an unpleasant experience.”

The deliberate disregard of Harry’s statement should have surprised him less, “Daily, Harry? Is that wise?”

He felt tempted to roll his eyes, “I don’t see why you’re concerned, Headmaster. If anything, it should be a relief to hear that someone is watching him often.” Harry’s hand sat on the armrest, and a single finger started tapping in part anxiety, part annoyance.

Hermione and Ron had known for a time now about Harry’s daily disappearances. Some lasting minutes, some lasting well into the next day. Harry hadn’t wanted to bring it up to Dumbledore when he finally noticed what was happening, deciding to sit on it until it became too obvious not to mention. Harry thought it had recently reached that point.

“Yes. Yes, I see how that could be useful, yes. But your _situation_ is more delicate than just anyone’s, my dear boy.” The frown was getting deeper, never a good sign. “In fact, with the _relationship_ you and Tom share, it could only be volatile, I would imagine, for you two to remain in such close, frequent company.”

Dumbledore was right, of course, but that was only in the beginning. Years ago, when the ink was still fresh, and the vows laid heavy like invisible restraints on their wrists, not a single day would go by without a large violent altercation. Never directly violent to each other for that was not allowed, but no room they shared was ever spared.

It was constant upkeep for the house-elves.

But over time, the tension in each meeting dwindled. The curses once thrown and harsh insults that often cut deeper were less and less. Until eventually, Voldemort and Harry had run out. Not out of just curses and insults but the energy to keep that hate alive.

Then meetings that were useless battlegrounds became stony silence on floral patterned settees, then awkward silted mentions of the happenings during their week apart, then slightly less awkward talks over tea. From there, it only spiralled further and further. Becoming comfortable silence in Voldemort’s study, shared inside jokes as they strolled through the gardens, quietly whispered nothings over a close dinner for two.

Harry realised this could only be a dangerous sign.

Harry’s silence was thoughtful before replying, “I would have only agreed with you in the beginning, sir, but now after months of daily meetings I haven’t found a reason to be wary.”

_Of him_ , was left unsaid. Harry’s own feelings budding under the surface were of another matter entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> I really do want to make a second part to this. I had some ideas before, but it's been so long and I've had other things on my plate. So I'm hoping if I toss this out into the AO3 Void, maybe I'll get that push to make more? Who Knows.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr (I live here): [@TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain](https://tomarryherewewhoaagain.tumblr.com/)  
> Or on Discord: [The Room of Requirement](https://discord.gg/2suak9y)  
> 


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